What actually happened according to my friend Billy who I am here with now and who was also there at the time but I wasn't

Christian Bale slams his enormous fist into the lighting director’s puny face, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The man falls to his knees in abject defeat; he tries to beg for his life, but his jaw is just a sliver of splintered bone and dripping gore. The sound he makes is 'grgrgagrghrg'. Bale understands this sound – he has heard it before – but he does not show mercy. ‘Boom!’ he roars, kicking his opponent into the air with such force that he flies up thirty feet, only for his trajectory to be intercepted by a jutting girder, on which he is mortally impaled.

‘Catch ya later!’ quips the victorious actor, who is rewarded with guffaws from the assembled cast and crew. The director, McG, slaps Bale on the back in an overly familiar fashion and offers him a cold Heineken from his personal stash (stored in a refrigerated backpack, which is carried around by a pint-sized lackey who never leaves McG’s side). Bale declines; ‘No thanks G-Mac,’ he says, using his pet name for the director in order to soften the blow of rejection. McG almost whimpers with appreciation.

Bale, who is topless, stretches his arms and yawns. ‘Time for a break,’ he says, to unanimous assent.